


Fiction

by dametokillfor



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, ColdAtom Week 2017, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 22:47:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11023185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dametokillfor/pseuds/dametokillfor
Summary: Len wishes he could hate him, but he’s been his goddamn rock. Somewhere along the way, he’d squirreled his way past the cracks in Len’s armour, and into his bruised and battered heart.---xAU. In which Mick died destroying the Oculus, and Leonard was the one left behind. Leonard is Not Okay.Written for ColdAtom Week 2017 day one, hurt/comfort.





	Fiction

**Author's Note:**

> This is for day one of ColdAtom Week 2017, for the prompt hurt/comfort.
> 
> I am _very_ sorry. This was supposed to be more comfort than it was hurt, and it really didn't end up like that. For added pain, I'd suggest listening to [Fiction by Avenged Sevenfold](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jFmYlasjqzs) which is where the title comes from. 
> 
> It's also less ColdAtom-y than I'd like, but I promise, future days are more focused on them.
> 
> Really. I'm very sorry.

_ He can feel Mick’s arm around him, his last breaths puffing softly against his ear. There are tears in both of their eyes and Len fancies he can feel Mick’s heart pounding against his own chest.  _

 

_ “Don’t fuck it up, Leonard.”  _

 

_ Len thinks how easy it would be to just cling to Mick, to stay with him as the Oculus blows and go out in a blaze of glory. Captain Cold and Heatwave, dying together to save the world. He could handle that.  _

 

_ But Mick is pushing him away, and there’s Raymond grabbing his arm and pulling him.  _

 

_ “Mick, please…” Len doesn’t care how weak he sounds. He’s lost Mick once, he’s not doing it again. He can’t.  _

 

_ “Leonard…” Ray’s voice is soft behind him, gentle and warm. It doesn’t fit into the hellscape that Len is trapped in again. _

 

_ “Mick.” Len pleads. He’s nearly screaming, begging his friend to leave with him, they can find another way, they don’t owe anyone anything.  _

 

_ Ray’s voice is there again, his hand is warm on Len’s arm and it’s burning him. He wants to snatch his arm away, but he can’t, Ray’s grip is too firm. He’s being shaken and the voice is getting louder.  _

 

_ He looks from Ray, looks to Mick and he’s burning. His skin, his muscle, blackening and peeling away. It’s wrong, this didn’t happen, he didn’t see this. Ray’s voice is still calling his name and _

 

his eyes open. 

 

His room on the Waverider is warm, it’s bright and it’s wrong. There are blueprints on the walls, and there are pages of handwritten notes strewn everywhere. There’s a red sweater that isn’t his on the floor, and then there’s Raymond.

 

His eyes are bleary, his hair is askew, he’s shirtless. He’s knelt by the bunk, hand on Len’s wrist.

 

“You were dreaming.” Ray tells him, and things start to make more sense. 

 

Mick is dead.

 

Ray was there.

 

Ray is there. 

 

He smiles warmly up at Len, a soft  _ you’re not alone, it’s okay, whatever you need _ smile.

 

And goddamn Ray, and his goddamn bleeding heart and low self-esteem, he’s always there for him. 

 

Len wishes he could hate him, but he’s been his goddamn rock. Somewhere along the way, he’d squirreled his way past the cracks in Len’s armour, and into his bruised and battered heart. Now Len isn’t entirely sure what he’d do without him. He doesn’t like this attachment, not in this line of work, not ever. He pushes him away during the light of day, but nights like this, he’s weak. He needs him. 

 

“Should I be offended that you were calling another man’s name?” Ray asks, with a crooked smile.

 

“Can’t imagine it was the first time.” Len shoots back. 

 

Len pushes himself up in bed, leans back against the wall of the tiny bunk and rubs at his eyes. He’s tired, so damn tired. It’s been months (four months, two weeks, six days) since he lost Mick, and he’s slept through the night unaided only a handful of times. He’s supposed to have picked himself up and moved past this now. 

 

“It’s okay, you know.” Ray’s voice is soft, it’s kind and Len doesn’t want to hear it.

 

“ _ Raymond _ .” Len warns. He doesn’t want to be told it’s okay that he has feelings, that he’s allowed to be in pain right now. 

 

Ray changes tack, and moves to sit with his back to the bunk. He huffs out a laugh. 

 

“Kendra called me Sara once.” Ray admits, “Said she didn’t know where it had come from. They’d been spending a lot of time together, sparring a lot. I told her it was fine. I must have been doing something right if she mixed me up with her.”

 

There’s a dozen biting remarks floating through Len’s head, but he doesn’t have it in him to spit any back.

 

Ray twists his head to look up at him, “We going with ‘speaking from experience, that’s an insult to Sara’?” He asks, in a terrible estimation of Len’s own icy drawl. 

 

“So long as you never try that again.” 

 

He will.

 

They’ll bicker on the bridge, both impersonating the other or they’ll end up undercover, both pretending to be one another again, and Len’s heart will be warmed and his inner Mick will tell him ‘ _ see, this is right _ ’. 

 

And it’ll kill him, because Mick is supposed to be there laughing at Len for thinking he’s being subtle. He’s supposed to be rolling his eyes when Len smiles at some idiotic remark, and reminding him he hates him. He’s supposed to be making snide comments about how Len’s eyes light up when Ray looks his way. He’s supposed to be teasing him about telling Lisa, about Captain Cold becoming Captain Cuddles and asking to be a bridesmaid. 

 

Instead, there’s this. 

 

Ray sitting quietly with him, when all he ever does is talk. Ray just resting his head against his bunk, not crowding him for a hug, or demanding he talk about his feelings. Ray letting Len grieve how he needs to grieve, whether it be silence, whether it be a furious fuck, whether it be sobbing in his arms. Ray being soft, and selfless and not desperate for recognition as his hero. (He is). 

 

This wasn’t how he was supposed to fall for Ray. It was supposed to be messy, and ugly and they were supposed to get hurt. They were supposed to fight and hate each other as much as they adored each other, because that’s what Len knew. Len was supposed to push him away, and Mick was supposed to call him out for being scared, and  _ fucking Mick was supposed to be here _ .

 

Len didn’t know who he was without him. Mick was the best and worst of him, and how could anyone see past the mess that Leonard Snart was without Mick Rory to balance him out? 

 

There’s the slightest touch of a hand against his ankle, and Len lifts his head to see dark patches of tears on his grey sweats, and blood on his nails where they’ve dug into his neck. Ray’s touch is so gentle, and  _ fuck fucking fuck _ .

 

“ _ Raymond. _ ” 

 

Ray doesn’t say anything, just gets to his feet, and climbs into the bunk with Len. He’s barely within touching distance when Len collapses into his arms and just  _ breaks _ .

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream at me on [Tumblr](http://damnstevens.tumblr.com).


End file.
